At last Emarine lifted her head. She looked at him steadily. “Did you, or didn’t you, tell your mother I’d have to do the knucklin’-down?”
He shuffled his feet about a little.
“Well, I guess I did, Emarine, but I didn’t mean anything. I just did it to get a little peace.”
The poor fellow had floundered upon an unfortunate excuse.
“Oh!” said the girl, contemptuously. Her lip curled. “An’ so you come an’ tell me the same thing for the same reason—just to get a little peace! A pretty time you’d have a-gettin’ any peace at all, between the two of us! You’re chickenish—an’ I hate chickenish people.”
“Emarine!”
“Oh, I wish you’d go.” There was an almost desperate weariness in her voice.
He picked up the ring with its shining garnet stars, and went.
Mrs. Endey tiptoed into the kitchen.
“My back’s about broke.” She laughed noiselessly. “I swan I’m proud o’ that girl. She’s got more o’ me in her ’n I give her credit fer. The idee o’ her a-callin’ him chickenish right out to his face! That done me good. Well, I don’t care such an awful lot if she don’t marry him. A girl with that much spunk deserves a gov’nor! An’ that mother o’ his’n ’s a case. I guess her an’ me ’d ’a’ fit like cats an’ dogs, anyhow.” Her lips unclosed with reluctant mirth.